Don't Touch the Shiny Thing
by ofravenwings
Summary: Loki can't help himself. If it's shiny, he has to touch it. Even if he doesn't know what it does...


"Loki, don't touch that."

Darcy doesn't even know why she bothers to say it. Because Loki, of course, is crossing the room, heading straight towards the collection of shiny whatever-the-hell-they-ares that fill the shelf above the desk.

"You're not supposed to touch anything," she says. Mostly, this time so she can add into the report - which she has to write of course, because actual _typing_ and _printing_ are not jobs for an ex-Asgardian god, thank you very much - that she at least protested whatever hell he's about to release.

Last week, he had managed someone to teleport approximately one thousand tiny white mice out of nowhere while he was "just touching" a device that they were only supposed to be locating. The tech guys still don't know how he did that, since the device was only supposed to change the ambient temperature of a room. Darcy still dreams about the feeling of all those tiny claws on her skin.

This assignment was the same as the previous one - infiltrate a businessman's private circle, confirm the existence of a collection of alien tech. Nothing more. Unless you're Loki, who just has to investigate everything they find. Darcy's not even sure why, but knowing him, he has some reason that no one else will think of for another five years. The guy plays a _long_ game.

Loki pokes a finger at a device that looks like a carved flute. Darcy scowls at his back and plumps down onto the couch. Loki, of course, looks like he's just steppes from the pages of a magazine in his tailored suit and green silk scarf. He'd decided that his cover would be as a new potential business partner. One with lots of money, of course, because god forbid that Loki appear in anything off the rack.

Meanwhile, Darcy got to spend the week masquerading as a maid, complete with horrible nylon uniform. Which is at least one size too small, the zipper straining over her bust. She suspects she owes Loki at least three deaths for how many times she's been groped in this damn uniform. Not to mention the businessman who actually tried to shove money down her bra in an effort to "secure her interests".

Darcy lies down onto the couch, propping her sneakers up on the arm. Every part of her body aches from scrubbing every damn bathroom in the mansion. "We should call technical, they'll come and box everything up," she says to the ceiling, knowing that Loki will be paying no attention to them. "If you break something, Fury's gonna be pissed."

Loki's response is to pick up an object that looks like a flattened potato. Green light glows around his fingers, followed by a snap of electricity. Loki hisses through his teeth, shaking his hand as though he's been burned.

_Good_, Darcy thinks. _Now do that another twenty times and maybe we'll be close to starting to be even._

After the cave incident - and that's the only way she can think of it now, as an _incident_ - she had thought that things were going to get better. That maybe they would actually be _good_. When she had woken that morning, she and Loki had been wrapped around each other, both of them still sticky and sore from the previous night. He had smiled at her, and leaned in. Expecting a kiss, she had closed her eyes.

The kiss had never come, and when she'd opened her eyes again, Loki was staring towards the blocked cave entrance.

The _formerly_ blocked cave entrance, through which bright sunlight was spilling.

Loki had slid from the blankets, gathered his clothes and dressed. And she had known, watching him, that nothing was going to be better. Nothing was going to be good.

He had walked from the cave without her, leaving her to scramble to dress and gather her things.

That pack, she had shoved far beneath her bed, requisitioning a new one as soon as possible.

As it turned out, despite Loki's Asgardian physiology and the magic he'd been using to heal himself, his bullet wound had started to fester. Loki had spent two days in medical care and then five more days locked in his apartment in Stark Tower. Darcy had gone to see him twice each day in hospital, once more at his apartment. Had called too many times to count before she realised that he was simply ignoring her.

She got the message. The incident in the cave had not happened.

That day, she had put in her first request with Fury to be assigned a new partner. Fury had torn up the application and tossed it into the trash.

Watching Loki as he picks up what appears to be a smooth silver egg, Darcy makes a mental note to turn in another application. Maybe if she threatened to quit, he'd do something.

Green light glows around Loki's fingers, and Darcy braces herself for another spark. She hopes this one hurts him more. She hopes it blows his damn hand-

-off.

Darcy blinks. Her thought felt like it broke somewhere in the middle. And somehow she's on the other side of the room, and she, not Loki, is holding the silver egg. It glows now with a pale light, and is cold against her skin. She sets it back on the shelf - or tries to, because she's suddenly clumsy, and the egg tumbles from the shelf and falls to the concrete floor. It splits in two, spilling wires and something that looks like rancid egg yolk.

She steps back, not wanting to get any of the goo on her shoes. Her feet tangle with each other, and she crashes down hard, landing smack on her behind with a jolt that clicks her teeth together painfully.

Someone laughs, and she glares at them because she's not-

The thought goes unfinished, because she's staring at herself. Her body, lying on the couch on the other side of the room, her own face looking as shocked as she feels.

She holds out her hands. Too large, the fingers too long. Too familiar.

_She is in Loki's body_.

She looks across the room again. "Loki?" It's his voice she's speaking in, so deep that she can feel it resonating deep within her chest. And damn, but that feels weird. "What the fuck did you do? I told you not to touch anything."

Loki sits up, half falling before he manages the transition. He tugs down the hem of the maid's uniform, looking uncomfortable. "Does your body always hurt this much?" he asks.

"It does when you've been scrubbing bathrooms all day," Darcy says. She stands up gingerly, focusing on each movement she needs to make. It feels weird to be so tall, able to see things from a completely different perspective. "I doubt you'd know that feeling, since you've only had to lift, what, a martini?"

Loki scowls, a familiar expression that looks strange on her features. "Just pick up the object. Maybe I can talk you through the magic. Or maybe…" He holds up a hand, focuses. Nothing happens. "Maybe not. The magic seems to be bound in my physical form. Interesting."

Darcy rolls her eyes. "I can't pick it up. It kind of…broke."

"You broke it?" The indignant words come out as a squeak, and Darcy can't help but laugh. Loki glares at her.

"I'm calling in technical," Darcy says. "They'll figure it out."

"But you can't-"

"Oh, I can, because thanks to you and your need to touch everything, I'm not you. Team leader and all of that. I'm the one who makes the decisions, which you insisted on, remember?"

Loki slumps back into the couch, arms crossed. His forehead is creased

Darcy just smirks and pulls Loki's phone from her pocket.

#

Fury crosses his arms, leans back in his seat.

"Really?" he asks. "_Really_?"

The scientist from technical holds the box containing the broken egg gingerly. "Really. We checked everything twice." She slides a glance at Darcy in Loki's body, her eyes performing a quick down-and-up flick. Darcy searches her memory for the scientists' name. Laurie, she thinks. Laurie does that down and up look again, then freezes, blinking rapidly and going red. "I'd better get this down to technical," she says, and rushes off.

Darcy watches her go. She recognises that quick look. That was the look that you use when you're checking someone out. Laurie was checking out _Loki_, forgetting that it was actually Darcy in this body.

"I don't know how you people always get yourself into such stupid-ass situations," Fury says. "First the mice, which we are _still_ finding, by the way, and now _this_."

Darcy avoids looking directly at Loki wearing her body, though she's aware of him standing erect next to her. His tight expression on her features just looks damn odd. Plus, there's the whole thing of rarely getting to see your own face except in reflection, and that just adds up to plain _weird._

Fury sighs. "I suggest that both of you go to your apartments. You're officially on leave until we figure this out." His gaze flicks between them. "Wait. You should go to each other's apartments." He holds up a hand when they start to protest. "Just for once, will you do what you're told? How will it look to everyone if you suddenly appear to have switched apartments? Unless you want me to post a general notice explaining to all of SHIELD just how stupid you both are? No?" He waits, but neither Darcy or Loki protest this time, though Darcy sees how uncomfortable Loki looks. "Until technical finds an answer, I suggest you both lay low. And Lewis?" He's look at Loki as he says this, and has to jerk his head quickly to Darcy when she looks up. "I hope technical gets this fixed fast, because I am not going to get used to this. No more requests, okay?" He waves his hand, looks down at his work.

Darcy and Loki hurry from his office. Darcy still stumbles every few steps, Loki's legs too damn long, his centre of gravity too high. Loki, she notices, has adapted rather too quickly to her body. She watches him as he passes a small knot of male agents, and damn him if he doesn't _sashay_ past them, flicking them a look from beneath his eyelashes.

"Will you stop that?" Darcy hisses at him once they're out of earshot of the agents.

"Stop what?" He looks up at her, eyes wide.

"You know. The hips, the swaying." She looks critically at his uniform. "And I'm pretty sure that there's at least a few more buttons on that uniform, by the way."

He smirks at her. Fishes keys out of his bag, holds them out. "We'd better switch now, while no one's looking."

"You're really going to go along with Fury?"

Those wide eyes regard her again. "I'm the one who follows orders, remember?"

She snatches the keys from his hand. Fishes the keys from his pocket and holds them out. He takes them, and she knows he deliberately brushes his fingers against hers.

Her head is hurting. Or Loki's head is hurting. She's getting to the point where she's not sure she can tell the difference.

She turns to leave, then stops, looks back. Loki is still standing there, swinging her keys around his finger. "And no looking. Or touching."

He raises an eyebrow. And it is very, very strange to see Loki's expression on her face. And it is not hot. Not hot _at all._

"Of course not," he says.

"And if you need to use the bathroom, then close your eyes or look away," Darcy says.

He smirks, somehow managing to force _his_ smile onto her face. Drops into a way too perfect curtsey and sashays away.

Darcy wants to punch something. Preferably Loki's smirking face. His real face, anyway. With him occupying the body.

She settles for stomping her foot on the floor. Something cracks beneath her, and she leaps away.

Loki has already vanished around the corner. She stomps again, harder this time. A crack appears in the stone beneath her feet. That, at least, feels good.

It's the first time anything has felt good since the cave.

#

The key unlocks the physical lock on the door to Loki's apartment. The palm scanner glows green.

The door doesn't open.

Darcy swears. She knows that Loki can set magic locks on rooms. No doubt it's why he was so happy to hand over the keys. Meanwhile, Loki's in _her_ apartment, probably rifling through her underwear drawer. Laughing at her.

"Stupid little Darcy," she says. She bangs her hand against the door, and a spark of green light flies from her fingers. "Now that's interesting."

She wiggles her fingers, then bangs the door again. This time, the spark is larger. Whatever the magic lock that Loki's placed on his rooms, it _wants_ to let Loki's body in. She smacks her palm against the door, hoping that maybe the magic will finds its own way to working.

And it does, because the door swings open.

"Ha," she says, stepping inside. "Suck on that, Loki. Now who's going to go through whose underwear?"

The door closes behind her, leaving her in darkness for a moment. As one, lights flare into life around the room.

She stands and stares. Because Loki has made his apartment look as much like Asgard as possible. He's had the walls papered with flocked emerald green, the ceiling painted a dull gold. All of the furniture follows the gold and green colour scheme, with dark wood thrown in for contrast. Everything is ornate, most of the furniture looking like it's come straight from a palace.

Darcy walks slowly around the apartment. The living space is larger than hers, and even the kitchen continues the colour scheme. When she opens cupboards, she finds them mostly empty, apart from several blocks of chocolate, coffee and creamer, and, surprisingly, a box of Pop-Tarts. Kept for Thor, she assumes. She's not particularly hungry - which is amazing in and of itself, because in her own body, she's pretty much hungry all the time - but she grabs one and bites into it cold, just because she can. The fridge holds several bottles of expensive beer and a half-empty bottle of white wine. She makes a mental note to finish that off later.

She slams the fridge closed. She doesn't want to think of later. Any moment, someone from tech is going to bang on the door and summon her to go and switch back to her own body. Tech always gets everything sorted out.

She realises only belatedly that she's slammed the door so hard that she's broken its hinges. The door hangs crooked now, cold air leaking out.

"Sorry, Loki, baby, your beer's going to get all warm," she says. "However will you cope?"

The rest of the apartment has the same layout as the others in the Tower. Small bathroom, which Loki has had redecorated in dark green and black marble. Study, which contains books along one wall, and a long workbench along the other. The bench is littered with tiny cogs and gears, some half-assembled into unidentifiable machines. Darcy touches one lightly, and it begins to vibrate.

The bedroom, she leaves until last. The same colour scheme continues here, and she wonders if Loki ever gets tired of green and black. The bed is enormous - larger than a king, probably wide enough for four people. She has to shove away the image of Loki with three other people as she flops down onto the bed. She's not tired in the least, her borrowed body feeling full of energy.

She doesn't know how long she lies there, staring up at the ceiling, just waiting for someone to come and knock at the door. She knows that when she finally acknowledges the heaviness in her bladder and gets up, it's after dark.

Her own words to Loki echo through her mind as she goes to the bathroom. She's never realised before that Loki favours trousers that lace up at the fly, but she has good reason to be annoyed with him now for his sartorial choices as she fumbles at the laces. She considers trying to stand, but ends up sitting down, afraid that she'll manage to pee into her own face.

That task done, she returns to the bed. Now that she's moved, she also realises how damn uncomfortable Loki's clothes are. She hesitates, remembering her words again. Then she remembers how Loki has been treating her since the cave, and she doesn't hesitate again.

It only takes a minute to strip off her clothes. Technically, she's seen Loki naked, but that was in the gloom of the cave. She looks down at Loki's body, runs her hands down her sides. His skin is soft, the muscles beneath defined and hard. She moves her fingers across the muscles of her abdomen, and shivers. There's a definite stirring in her groin, and as she watches, her cock - and oh gods, she has a cock right now - rises.

Darcy bites her lip.

Right now, she bets that Loki has probably stripped her naked, is probably doing goddamn high kicks around her apartment in her body.

And that image, it seems, is what Loki's body needs, because she's fully hard now. Darcy grins, and bounces a little on the bed, laughs as her cock continues to bounce up and down even after her body is still.

"How the hell do you guys get anything done with these attached to you?" she asks.

She bounces again, just because she can. Laughs again.

The first touch is tentative, just a mere brushing of her fingers along the shaft. Even that feels good, and she can't help the moan that rises in her throat. She wraps her fingers around the shaft, then, experiments with pressure, with rhythm.

It seems to take an embarrassingly short time for her to come, her hips jerking arrhythmically as her hand continues to pump, milking out the last of the pleasure.

Almost immediately she feels revulsion. She knows that what she did was utterly wrong, something that she would be appalled at anyone else for doing. She gathers up the stained bedclothes, tosses them into the washing machine. Takes her borrowed body into the shower, scrubs herself clean.

Loki, it seems, doesn't actually own any pyjamas, so she has to settle for a tshirt and boxers. Curls up in his bed and sleeps.

Thankfully, she does not dream.

#

She's woken what seems like only moments later by knocking on the door.

Darcy opens it to Loki and the woman from technical. She holds a small wooden box; inside is the silver egg, whole again.

"Have a nice night?" Loki asks. He steps back, spreads his arms out to his sides. Turns slowly around.

Darcy frowns until she realises that he's showing that he's still wearing the same clothes as the previous day. She glances down at herself, realises that she's still in the boxers and tshirt.

"Lauren worked all night fixing the device," Loki says. He hooks an arm around Lauren's shoulders, pulls her close. He's grinning, managing again to make Darcy's face grin the way his does.

"Well, you kept me well supplied with coffee," Lauren says. Her cheeks turn pink. "And that chocolate cake!" She turns to Darcy, the blush fading. "You should just have to touch the device, and switcho-changeo."

Darcy looks at Loki.

Loki winks. "Unless you'd prefer some more time?"

Darcy reaches out and grabs the shiny egg. Hard enough that her fingernails go white.

Blink, and she's Loki. Blink, and she's back in her own body, her arm around Lauren's shoulders. Lauren, the woman's name was Lauren, not Laurie.

Loki makes a show of straightening his shirt. "Well, that was a diversion. I imagine Fury will have us back out in the field as soon as possible, so we should both get some rest."

He closes the door in their faces. Lauren squeaks, scuttles off down the corridor.

Darcy stomps her foot. Wishes she could crack the floor.

All she manages is a bruised heel.


End file.
